Not What I Saw
by Pumpernickle
Summary: Sam and Dean are back together fighting after the apocalypse, but Dean thinks that something might be missing. My fisrt fic so please be nice. T for a little swearing and a boy kiss.


Not what I saw

Sam had come back, six months ago actually. Just, got out of the pit and showed up on Lisa's door, asked for me, and the infamous duo set out to fight evil again. All was well. Bobby was alive, and walking, and Sam and i were fighting scum.

Only, I knew something was wrong. Normally, I would have instantly shoved it to the back of my mind, but this demanded attention. I asked Bobby and Sam if they had the same feeling, but they both waved me off. So after four months of trying to dissect what I was worrying over, I pushed it behind that wall of things that shouldn't bother me again.

But it did, two months later, that sinking feeling of loss crept out from behind my wall and hit me full force.

It happened first when I was walking down the street, making my way back to the motel with supplies, I constantly bounced off people, trying to make my way as quickly as I could through the meandering crowds. I mumbled apologies as I went, and finally I got outta there. So, continuing my way down the street, I run into some random guy who should have been minding his space better, coz we were out in the open. Anyway, I mumbled my apology and kept going. Until the feeling came. I stopped dead in my tracks and turned, but the guy was gone, probably pulled into the wave of people, and so I continued back to the motel. But thats not what I saw.

_What Dean didn't see, was the man turning and facing him, an expression sad and broken worn on the face that was gone by the time Dean even bothered to turn. Dean thought he had moved, but an earlier Dean would have known better._

The second time was when I was pushing my way through the bush in order to get to the cabin we'd squatted in. I had just gotten weapons from the car and while my left hand held onto the pack slung over my shoulder, my right hand pushed away anything in my way. It had become a rhythmic pattern, easing me through the night. Branch, leaf, branch, branch, tie. Wait, tie? That was not right, but when I turned around, I could find no evidence of a tie anywhere, even when I backtracked. I looked down to my hand which had grasped the blue, silky fabric and pushed it out of the way, but all I saw was blood. Quite a bit. And not mine. I know this because I wiped my hand on my shirt and looked back and there was no cut at all. But thats not what I saw.

_What Dean didn't see, was the figure that stepped out and retrieved the tie, pulling the bloody fabric back, and leaving with, again, a sad face. Dean thought he was hallucinating from tiredness, but an earlier Dean would have known better._

The next time was when Sam and I were shopping for new clothes. We walked past nameless stores, looking in the windows, searching for anything that we could wear, practical and cool. Lots of stores held plain black shirts and jeans, but I wanted a jacket, so we kept walking past the stores, looking in for anything. Thats when I saw the coat. I know what your thinking, oh, a coat, how very unDeanlike, but no. I wasn't interested in the coat for myself, plus, I only saw a glance of it. It was tan, long and would have fallen to about the wearers knees, but, like any trench coat, that would not have grabbed my attention. No. What grabbed my attention was the way it was torn and slashed, covered in thick splatters of red and crimson, as if it had been picked up off a murder scene and put straight on the coat hanger. Even the manikin looked as if it had undergone the same process. But as I looked back into the store, I could see nothing other than the black shirts and jeans. But thats not what I saw.

_What Dean didn't see, was the figure in its entirety, an almost see through mirage of what is, or what it was, the sad face etched forever onto the handsome features. Dean thought maybe it was a reflection in the glass, but an earlier Dean would have known better._

Soon, I pushed them out of my mind, weirder things have happened right. But then it happened again. We walked from the motel out to my beloved impala, which was covered in a fog. Sam leant over and began writing on the windscreen. I quickly told him not too, actually, my words were, "Get your hands offa my baby!", which Sam quickly complied. So we both climbed inside the car, and Sam had wiped away whatever profanity he had written, and I turned to look out of the fogged window. There. Right in front of me was a message. It read, "Save me", with a handprint resting next to it. And that wasn't the worst of it. The handprint was basically made out of blood, like a finger painting of some sick demon, and part of the writing was also slathered with the fluid. I turned to Sam quickly and asked, "Did you do this?" to which he replied "what?". I pointed to the windscreen and turned to face it whilst giving a grunted "This.". Sam looked at me worriedly, because nothing was there, just the fog. But thats not what I saw.

_What Dean didn't see, was the same figure, writing with its last strength, and wiping it away, as so not to stain the glass. If Dean looked on the bonnet, he would see more blood, but as they drove away, the rain washed all evidence away. Dean thought he was going crazy, but an earlier Dean would have known better._

One time when I was in the bathroom, after one terrible nightmare, I was washing my face when I saw something. I looked into my reflection, and for a fraction of a second, I saw bright blue eyes staring back at me, and giant black shadow wings coming from the shadow of a figure that had no body. I looked again, I repeated exactly what I did so many times, my hands were almost wrinkled from too much water, but it never repeated. I thought it had to be a trick of the light. But thats not what I saw.

_What Dean didn't see, was the effort it took for him to form himself within the mirror. He didn't see the blood pouring all over the floor inside the mirrors dimensions. Dean blamed it on the light, but an earlier Dean would have known better._

The next time was when we had just booked our room. I walked up to the door, all intents focused on opening the door and flopping down on the bed o catch some shut eye. But no. When I put the key in the lock and looked up, I saw another message. This one read, "I saved you from your hell". I put my hand over the carving and traced my hand over it, feeling the groves, but as my fingers passed each letter, it would disappear into the wood. On my hand, though, was blood, left over from whatever left the message. I thought that maybe it was some kids. But thats not what I saw.

_What Dean didn't see, was the figure using a rock to carve into the door, after it heard which room they would stay in. He didn't see the distraught face that was loosing hope. Dean blamed it on a prank, but an earlier Dean would have known better._

The next time was two days later, and was also a message. I was in the motel alone, coz Sam had gone out to get food. Thats when something wet dripped on my forehead while I lay on the bed. It reminded me of what I was told about Sam and Jessica, so I quickly opened my eyes, fearing the worst. On the roof was bloody writing, so, yes, it was blood on my head. This message read, "Save me from mine". There was also another handprint, and it slid along the roof towards the end of my bed. I looked down and saw nothing, but when I looked back up, because another drop had fallen on my head, all I saw was water, dripping from a leaky roof. By now, I knew something was up, unless I was crazy. But thats not what I saw.

_What Dean didn't see, was the man standing at the foot of the bed. By the time Dean had looked, he had been pulled back. Each time he gets out its the same. A few seconds to seek help before he is found. Dean knew that something was wrong, but an earlier Dean woud have known better._

And that leads me to today. I locked the doors and windows to our motel room. Sam is worried, and scared, but I don't care. I have put everything I can together, and this is what I have;

Its a man, that much im sure of, he has blue eyes, a tie and a trench coat. From what I saw of that manikin, I presume he also has sticky uppy black hair. My mind wants to fill in the blanks, and I have a picture of the hand print on my arm next to the picture too. I know that they are connected. I want to save this man. I feel connected to him, which is probably why only I remember him. And I know I remember, because I can find voids in my mind where he can fit, but I dint have enough to fully remember. And he needs my help, if all the blood and his messages is anything to go by. And then there is the wings. So im thinking angel, but ive met so many of them, and they were all dicks, so why this one would come to me is beyond me. I know im rambling, but im running out of options, I want to help him. I just need something else. Something to remember.

I look down at my paper, because I need to remember what I can, and then I see it. Another message. It says, "Pray me home". I know this man, I do. I know his blue eyes, I know how they stare. I know his hair, how he has never brushed it. I know his tie, it hangs haphazardly around his neck. I know his coat, because it is more like an extension of his body than an article of clothing. I know those wings that I have only ever seen shadows of. I know his blood, from when I carved a sigil into his skin. I also know the handprint, that is what saved me, what he used to 'Grip me tight and raise me from perdition'. I know his voice, the guttural tone used to say my name. I know his lack of knowledge on humans, his misunderstanding of personal space. I know his presence, because I can feel it over my entire body when he is near. And I know his name. His name, is Castiel.

All of this hits me like a ton of bricks, no, worse, because, how could i ever forget my saviour, how could I ever forget my angel, how could I ever forget Cas. He saved me once, and even though it means that I should be in his debt, he always treated it as the opposite. But now, now I could make it up to him. He has died for me, twice already, and I wont let it happen again.

I stand tall on my bed, abruptly too, scattering the paper everywhere. Sam jumps out of fright, but I ignore him, more important things are at hand. I crane my head to the ceiling and build up as much power as I can, sucking in huge breaths. Then I yell. "CAS, YOU SON OF A BITCH! GET YOUR FEATHERY ASS DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW!" Nothing happens, except that tingle. I know he's here. Sam is staring at me like ive lost my mind. Id probably feel the same way if I knew I wasn't so damn right. I looked around and saw. There, in the corner, it was more like an apparition. Cas was strung up, six ways from Sunday, being tortured by his brethren in heaven. I recognised one. "RAPHAEL! GET YOUR HANDS OFFA MY FUCKING ANGEL!" No response. I tried again "DEAR GOD!" I yelled at the ceiling, "I PRAY THAT YOU SEND MY ANGEL BACK HOME TO ME BEFORE I FIND YOU AND FRY YOUR FRIGGIN' ASS! I PRAY THAT CAS, THAT STUPID SON OF A BITCH, GETS THE FUCK OUT OF HEAVEN RIGHT NOW, AND COMES RIGHT HERE, INTO THIS ROOM! I PRAY THAT YOU HURRY, COZ IF YOU DON'T, YOUR GONNA FIND YOURSELF SHORT A FEW HUNDRED ANGELS, BECAUSE I WILL KILL THEM TO GET TO HIM, AND I WILL. KILL. YOU. AMEN!" And, well, if ever there was a prayer, that would be it.

Sam was still looking at me in disbelief, only now, shit scared, he had crawled of the other side of the bed and was crouching there, using it as a shield. But I turned away, I faced the foot of my bed, because, that is where Cas would appear, if he would appear at all.

And he did. There he stood, in all his glory, black hair sticking out, blue eyes boring into my soul, trench coat, tie, suit, everything. He was beautiful. A single tear rolled down his face, for two reasons; one, his brothers had done this to him, and two, I remembered, even against all of heavens power. I ran forward and jumped of the bed, pulling him into the hug he always deserved, but never received, and smashing my lips against his, in the kiss we always wanted. He was the most beautiful being upon, or not, the entirety of Earth, with the brightest soul, even through the torture. He was perfection.

People who saw would have said that Castiel looked like a thriller movie reject. That he looked disgusting, like he was a zombie, or dead. That he looked like a mutilated piece of flesh, something you would feed to your dog, after all of the torture he went through, his skin hanging from his form, blood thick across his entire being. That he was ugly. But I knew better, because thats not what I saw.


End file.
